


Kneesocks of the Rich and Famous [or, tell that jon he just made my list of things to fuck today]

by megyal



Category: Bandom
Genre: Costume Kink, M/M, Multi, Roleplay, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-27
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	1. Chapter 1

_We're gonna have a good time tonight...let's celebrate, it's all right_. Kool and the Gang were blasting their cheerful way past Patrick's very slight headache and Pete obviously had the air conditioning rattling somewhere near the comfort zone of penguins, because the bare skin of his thighs was overrun with goosebumps. People were giving him looks as he sat primly on the couch, glances that had a sort of double-edge: first, their eyes widened almost comically and then narrowed in contemplation. A few _leered_. Pete was the main offender with the sly suggestiveness but Patrick had immunity to that sort of shit. What Pete thought was sultry really looked like a bad case of heartburn.

"Okay," Jon said, sitting beside him and tugging at the white collar around his neck. His black cloak was ankle-long and cinched at the waist; a long row of black buttons marched severely from his neck right to the hem of the garment. "Who'd you lose the bet to?"

"Andy." Patrick inspected his school-tie with deep interest and then flicked nonexistent specks of dirt off the pleats of his plaid skirt. Jon blinked.

"You could have said no. Not that....well."

Patrick looked at him over the rims of his glasses.

"Dude. Have you met Hurley? Yeah? Cause he's sort of the devil. Seriously."

Jon made a silent _oh_ with his lips. His eyes flickered down to Patrick's legs snugly encased in white kneesocks and black lace-up shoes and they did that eyes-wide-now-slitted maneuver. Patrick sighed and tugged at the left sleeve of his white Oxford shirt.

"Ahhm. Did you? Okay. Did they take you to a waxing parlour? Because-"

"The legs, I know, I know. Venus."

Jon's face took on a slightly dazed sheen.

"You know...the shaving kit-thing? Pete bought the pink one. He thought it was _pretty_."

"Brendon thinks that too." Jon blinked and found that his forefinger had been poking into knee nearest to him, this kneecap made redder than the other. Patrick was looking at him sidelong, but not with surprise. He looked....amused. In an interested way. Jon snatched his hand back, trying to keep this cool. He tugged at his priest-collar again.

"Forgive me, father," Patrick said low, and _he_ had sultry sort of nailed to the wall, because Patrick's speaking voice tended to do the same thing that his singing voice did: got people all flustered and shit. "Forgive me, for I have sinned."

Jon could see Pete peering at them from the makeshift booth where he was "deejaying", Pete's own costume a very respectable gangster-chic, circa Capone. Pete had had a cigar, but Joe managed to steal it. Maybe to do a little mixing and matching but that wasn't really the point right about now, because Patrick was giving him a little smirk, like he had all the cards; but Jon didn't hang around with Brendon for nothing.

"Well, my dear child," he rumbled in what he hoped was a priesterly tone. "Tell me and I'll have you do your penance."

Patrick gave a sigh laden with Wentzian drama, brushing at the hair that was growing out again under the brim of the messenger-boy hat. He pressed his knees together, then crossed his pale legs slowly and that damned collar was feeling a little too tight around Jon's neck. Oh fucking _my_.

"Father. I let someone touch me where they weren't supposed to," Patrick said in a small voice, his hand clenched in his lap; his gaze was fixed on Pete, who winked at them. Patrick smiled back in such a shockingly dirty way and then schooled his features again into an expression of unease, looking down at his clasped hands. "When I put on this skirt today...."

Jon shifted in his seat and saw Patrick purse his lips, holding back laughter. Okay, alright, _fine_. He leaned close and rested his hand again on that smooth knee, watching as the skin flushed under his fingertips. Nice.

"Continue, my child."

Patrick's eyes were suddenly fixed on him, large, close and realistically damp. He pressed his hand against the loosened knot of his tie and exhaled in a convincingly shaky manner. His eyes cut to Pete again and stayed there.

"It was an older boy, father," he whispered conspiratorily, worrying the tie-knot. "He told me it would feel really nice."

Jon croaked and Patrick's lips quirked up; his eyes were still locked with Pete's, who had thankfully turned over the deejaying to Travie. Travie in the purple-dinosaur suit. Pete was chatting a mile a minute into Travis' jurassic ear but his eyes were solid dark on them; he tilted his chin in their direction and Patrick nodded back, minutely. There seemed to be a rapid mental telegraph occurring between the two of them and Jon could practically _feel_ the heat of the thoughts brushing past him. It was pretty fucking intense, and he wondered, not for the last time that night, what the hell it was he had gotten himself into, just by giving into the impulse to take a closer look at Patrick's legs.

"He pushed me into his room, father. And...and he told me to lie down, and when I didn't, he made me and...we _did_ things. Naughty things."

Where Patrick Stump had picked up this ingenue act was really a mystery, but it was pretty priceless; and the way they were looking at each other, Pete's eyes burning into Patrick's; really, he was watching the best eye-fuck ever; and Patrick's shy low voice seeping wantonly under his skin. There was only so much a person could take; Jon jumped a little when Patrick focused on him abruptly. The pressure of his stare was palpable.

"I enjoyed it too much, father. I think I need to be punished."

Holy fucking _shit_. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell was Patrick pulling? Pete was _right over there_ , looking at them with a species of deep calculation and was he fucking _nodding_ at Jon, like he was giving _permission_? Hello? What the hell was this, Fueled in Wonderland? He snapped his gaping mouth shut and looked at Patrick's lower lip caught between white teeth...and decided there was no way he looking a gift horse in the mouth...or redheaded vocalist. Whatever.


	2. Chapter 2

God bless Andrew John Hurley. Really. Without him, the soft plaid pleats of that amazing skirt wouldn't be riding gently up against the cool skin of Patrick's thighs as he uncrossed and recrossed his legs; Pete seemed to be chuckling to himself across the room, stealing some drink from Ryan as he trotted past. Patrick smiled sweetly at Jon.

"Hey. You know where Pete's room is, right? The last one at the end?"

Jon was putting on a _duh_ expression, but decided that it would be more _mature_ to nod in what he hoped was a fairly nonchalant manner. Patrick got up and pulled at the hem of the skirt.

"Great. Cause I'm gonna go...get something."

"Sure. Okay, yeah, whatever."

He watched as Patrick slid hrough the hyper crowd at this party Pete termed the Usual Suspects Bash, people stopping him now and again to point at the kneesocks, which were a lot cuter than anything had a right to be. Patrick was nearly halfway across the room when he glanced back, rolled his eyes and fought his way towards Jon again. Jon frowned a little at Patrick's exasperated expression as he loomed over.

"What?"

"Yeah, so when I said I was going to _get something_? I sorta meant you were supposed to give it to me... _father_."

"Oh. _Oh_. Um."

Patrick put up a hand, like a cop stopping traffic, fingers straight and lined up tight against each other.

"Not with the _um_. Please. I'm in a _skirt_ here, man. This is either a good thing or a bad thing for you, right?"

Jon tried not to let how shocked he was seep through to his eyes, because, really. It was almost too much. He stood up and pulled at his own clergy cloak, which, if you wanted to split hairs, was actually a long black dress, but. You know. He doubted he had the legs to pull off the Schoolgirl Effect.

"Dude." He fiddled with the black scarf tight around his waist. "Not that the flesh isn't willing and all? It's just...I didn't even know you could be like...this. It's just a little weird. Okay, _very_ weird."

Patrick nodded sympathetically and turned his head to do that strange transmittal thing with Pete again. Pete gave a careless smile, _whatever, man_ wrapped up in it as he shrugged one shoulder dismissively, leaning against the deejay booth and listening to Travie do some dedications. Patrick turned to Jon again.

"So this is not happening, then."

"What?!" Jon was trying hard not to screech. "I didn't say that! When did I say that?"

"Oh. That's good." Patrick's tongue slipped out and licked at the corner of his mouth, one small indolent swipe; One tiny part of Jon's brain was still muttering in indignation that Patrick would ever _think_ a thing like that, while the majority was concentrating on re-directing blood-flow. Patrick slipped away through the crowd again (slapping away Joe's jokingly-grabby hands at one point) and Jon made sure to follow close behind this time.

Patrick seemed to melt into shadow as they finally reached a dim corridor, the celebratory shouting of the crowd behind them, and when Jon put out his hand to find a surface, he felt Patrick's strong fingers close around his wrist and yank him almost violently forward, through a doorway. He opened his mouth to express a little displeasure at this whole manhandling business as Patrick pushed him against a wall; that particular action contributed to Patrick's tongue in his mouth. Jon decided that complaining was actually highly over-rated as Patrick squeezed his upper arms and kissed the hell out of him.

Nice. Patrick had a really complete modus operandi, pressing fully into Jon, hard and rough, rotating his hips in this slight way that was really, _really_ maddening as he licked at Jon's tongue; slow teasing strokes, little bites; Patrick was making these contented little moans deep in the back of his throat, counterpoint to the whispering rustle of the skirt against the rough material of the robe. Jon put his hands tentatively on waist of the garment, and god, Patrick grabbed one hand and pulled it lower, so that Jon had to bend his knees a little, bracketing those thighs, biting at that cool neck, his fingers stroking up the back of Patrick's leg, up, up, up..and--

"Okay, wait." Jon pulled back and coughed out of sheer shock. "I don't know if you realised...but, you're kinda naked under this."

"Ahhh...yeah. That was part of the bet."

God bless Andrew John Hurley.

This was new. New, as in awesome, because Patrick was turning out to be what Jon's father might refer to as a siren, only, like, male. _Male siren_ , he was musing, really content with this definition, happier with the fact that his eyes were adjusting to the dark room, and his brain was registering that there was a bed over there, and his dick was reporting that he might just die happy. Soon. Like, right after Patrick's hand would be pressed against his aching crotch.

That would be _now_ , Patrick's hand slithered between them, the heel of his wrist pressing insistent messages into him and Jon's brain was doing what only could be called a gleeful jig.

"Father," Patrick whispered, backing up to the bed, and who was Jon not to follow? "Father, what is my punishment?" Patrick leaned away a little and a light snapped on, revealing a contrite Patrick unbuttoning the two top buttons of his shirt. Just those, and it was amazing how such a tiny patch of skin would be detrimental to his pulse. He totally forgot to be a priest.

"Ummm."

"You keep _saying_ that," Patrick teased, falling out of character and then dizzyingly falling right back. "Usually I have to be on my knees, right? Isn't that right, father?"

"Yes, my child," Jon negotiated, just barely.

The skirt ballooned a little as Patrick got to his knees, resting back on his haunches. He started to unbutton the long cloak, from Jon's heel, his fingers moving swiftly yet just a bit too slow for Jon's peace of mind. Patrick had to undo the scarf, the better to open the folds of the robe and his hand was awfully cold when he undid Jon's black pants and carefully tugged Jon's cock out, but his warm mouth made that _all_ better.

The feel of his tongue was...yeah. Right there, all along that eager vein, and if those Venus ads were right, then Patrick was a _goddess_ ; and it was not only his mouth, wide and talented, that was tugging Jon relentlessly into a confusing spiral. It was the way his eyes flickered up to meet Jon's, heatedly amused, or the way his hand was fisted around the root of Jon's dick, his little finger pressed against Jon's pubic bone (Jon's brain was excitedly yelling _pubic bone! Pubic! Bone!_ , for some reason) and he was making short strangled gasps, hands on Patrick's neck, fingers stroking Patrick's face, urging him on; so he was to be forgiven if he actually _jumped_ when Pete's voice came from directly behind him.

"He's good at that, right?"

Jon's brain went into a mad scramble, trying to look up some excuse while protesting loudly at Patrick's mouth sliding off. Pete came around him and looked down at Patrick affectionately. Patrick loosened his tie a little more, gazing back up at Pete.

""Why is Jon still dressed?" Pete seemed to scold. Jon stared.

"I don't know." Patrick pursed his lips and frowned, pulling at the edge of his tie. "I think it's the legs, man. He's probably not into this sort of thing, really. I mean, just look at this skirt--"

A low exasperated sound huffed out of Pete, and he reached down to pull Patrick to his feet. Jon's cock mourned this deeply.

Pete rested his chin on Patrick's shoulder, breath fluttering through the wisps of Patrick's hair. His grin became wide and he gave Patrick a long slow lick at the pink curve of his ear.

"No, dude," Pete whispered, setting off a slight shiver in Patrick. "It's not the legs. The legs are _great_. He thinks its about me...am I right, Walker?"

"It's not--"

"You'll stay." Pete pressed his mouth against Patrick's cheekbone, just his mouth open against the fair skin, the rest of his body held a little away from Patrick, who closed his eyes and groaned. "Make Patrick happy, cool?"

The thing about Pete was, he was a compelling bitch. A person could hardly say no to him...not that Jon was feeling contrary to this whole situation. The pin-striped gangster-suit, of which Pete was wearing only the pants now, probably had a lot to do with that feeling of lethargic complacency as well, making Jon feel as if he was walking though molasses as Patrick urged him onto his back in the bed.

And they were _both_ straddling him (still not complaining, though), Patrick pressing down on him, the skirt flared over their rocking hips, and could someone bless Hurley again? Please. Jon would be sure to hug him or something, the next time they met. He was up on his elbows and he could see the way the ribbed top of white socks was snug under Patrick's knees. Pete was muttering something into Patrick's ear as he sat on Jon's legs behind him. Patrick nodded, leaning forward to kiss Jon again, the taste of himself musky at the tip of Patrick's tongue, Patrick's cock jerky-silky-hard against his through the open fly of his pants as Pete moved down.

Patrick broke this kiss and pressed his damp forehead against Jon's; he realised belatedly that Patrick was shivering all over and it was _Pete_ causing this, because Pete was behind there doing something to make Patrick to pant like that. He rolled his head away, Patrick's head tucking into the crook of his shoulder and stretched his neck and head up to spot Pete's dark head pressed close to Patrick's ass, the skirt rucked up.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Patrick moaned faintly into Jon's neck and Pete made a humming noise of agreement. "Fuck, _fuck_ , Pete, wait..."

"Shhh." Jon surprised himself by stroking Patrick's back. Pete's head came up and he smiled; Jon could see the gleam of slick fingers working in and out of Patrick. "It's going to be good."

"Yeah," Pete concurred. "Sit up."

They made Jon sit back against the mound of pillows, pulling off his pants and boxers, tossing his shoes and socks with the coordination of a tag-team; they left the black cloak on, still buttoned halfway up. Jon wished they wouldn't, because it was sort of stifling with the collar and all; but that's what they wanted, apparently, legs bent and spread open against the robe. Patrick wanted to take off his socks too, but Jon gave a firm hell-no on that one. The shoes, alright. But leave the socks.

After some low discussion, Patrick turned around, his back to Jon's chest, kneeling around his thighs. He sat back slowly and Jon felt the heated slickness in the tight ring of muscle start to engulf him with shocking, pleasing resistance. Pete was extremely helpful in this venture, holding Jon's cock upright with one greased palm, sucking on Patrick's neck and winking at Jon's reddening face, so close as Patrick slid down on him, breathing in desperate hitches.

"Such a good little girl. Now, _move_ ," Pete murmured as Patrick curved his back when he was all the way down, so that there was an arc of space between his clothed spine and Jon's trembling stomach; instead of rocking back and forth, or up and down, Patrick _rolled_ his hips around in a full circle, grinding in Jon's lap; he did this until Jon was ready to scream.

Sweat was collecting inside the priest-collar and Jon held onto Patrick's writhing hips, bucking up into the rotation. He heard Pete say something and Patrick laugh breathlessly, but his whole head was roaring as if he was in the middle of a sold-out crowd. He could hardly move his legs because both Pete and Patrick had him pinned down, but that was the least of his worries.

"Stop." Pete's voice sliced through the white-noise in his brain and Patrick immediately stilled. Jon groaned. "Hold on. Let me..."

Pete was shifting down again; Jon felt Patrick press back into him even more. He tried to peer over Patrick's shoulder, but all he could see was the outline of Pete's head under the skirt, bobbing up and down slowly as Patrick rested his hands on the patterned pleats, squeezing at Pete's head. His cock throbbed inside Patrick and Patrick tensed around him, shifting in a slight rhythm despite Pete's command.

He suddenly felt a warm breath at his own balls and Pete was sucking on one gently, and then curiously swiped his tongue right where Jon was buried to the hilt inside Patrick. Patrick was the one to jump this time and Pete seemed to press in further, nipping more at them. Patrick was shuddering and Jon totally commiserated. His fingers were practically biting into Patrick's hipbones, but Patrick didn't appear to give a fuck, _now_ starting with the sensual bouncing on Jon as Pete went back to sucking him off.

"Change," Pete said abruptly, ducking out from underneath the skirt.

"What?" Jon snapped, just a little annoyed that there seemed to be a very clear set of instructions that Pete and Patrick both had had access to and he didn't. Pete's weight moved from his lower legs and Pete settled on the pillows beside him. Patrick eased up off him, a slow burning drag and Jon watched as the skirt flounced around. Patrick gave Pete an almost friendly peck on the mouth, then shuffled back to undo Pete's pants.

Jon must have made some sort of sound, because they both turned to look at him. Patrick blinked owlishly behind his glasses, slipping down his sweaty nose, his lips red.

"Oh. Well....I thought you were helping to punish me, father."

Pete leaned his head back against the messy mountain of pillows and his laughter was almost silent at Patrick's guileless performance. Jon made a face at them; then clambered swiftly to kneel behind Patrick. Too much fun was thought to be a bad thing in certain circles, he thought, but certain circles didn't have the pleasure of carefully turning up that skirt, grabbing on Patrick's waist and burying himself right down deep again. Patrick's moan was muffled, presumably around Pete's cock. Jon managed to keep his eyes open to see Pete's slitted right at him, his brown hand wrapped around the nape of Patrick's neck, fingers woven into the flyaway strands.

The _sounds_ they were making, gutteral, fleshy, almost brutal, twisted into Jon's ears. As he leaned forward, pressing himself into Patrick, kissing Pete's hand atop his neck and watching as Patrick's lips wrapped around Pete, he was particularly grateful that neither of them seemed to be the overly-talkative type; at least not in middle of a nice hot fuck. Action, dudes, louder than words. And _loud_ seemed to be optional as well, because Pete only made stifled grunts, face contorted as he came. Patrick was the best multi-tasker ever, because he was pushing back and clenching on Jon; and Pete was such a _director_ , because he was pushing Patrick by the shoulders, forcing the both of them to kneel up so he could dive back under the skirt again, his pants still open and rumpled, guiding the back and forth beat.

"I'm...okay, I'm--" Patrick was just starting lose this rhythm and Jon had one arm braced around his chest, fist wrapped around the tie.

"Yeah, me too," he muttered into Patrick's ear and bit the lobe of it. Patrick convulsed between the two of them, keening gently as his nails scraped at Jon's thighs and Jon had to latch his mouth onto Patrick's neck to stifle his shout, thrusting and shaking.

"Oh god," Patrick was saying weakly as Jon slid out and he was going to say something else, but Pete kissed him deeply. Pete was giggling all through the kiss, Patrick beating at his shoulders. Patrick pulled away and glared. "Pete, please. Swallow."

Jon shook his head and looked for his pants, watching out of the corner of his eye as Pete, after taking Patrick's advice, dragged Patrick to lay back down, stroking his hands on the skirt. Patrick squirmed only for a little.

"You're such a naughty little girl," Pete chided. "I think you'll have to be punished again."

"Maybe," Patrick said, his eyes now intent on Jon as he shifted to allow Pete's roaming hands to unbutton his shirt as Jon fastened his own cloak. "When father over there gets out. Or maybe he wants to stay?"

Jon saluted and backed to the door. They'd kill him, between the two of them, really.

"Love the skirt, Stump. Seriously. And you have _very_ pretty legs." He dived out of the room and slammed the door to Pete's peals of laughter and Patrick's eye-roll, stumbling right over Hurley as he exited the corridor. Jon didn't even hesistate: he wrapped his arms right around him and gave him a loud smack on the lips.

"God bless you, Andrew Hurley. I think you are the awesome."

"Fuck," Andy spat. "Doesn't everybody?"


End file.
